


Booze Cruise Aftermath

by Venusdoom3



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Consensual Sex, Drunk Jim, Heartbreak, Jim has a crush on Pam, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, One Night Stands, Ryan has a crush on Jim, Sober Ryan, The Booze Cruise, Unrequited Love, distraction sex, mentions of other Office characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 07:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venusdoom3/pseuds/Venusdoom3
Summary: Jim sighs, shrugging. "Just can't keep my mind off her. I even told Michael how I feel about her, for fuck sake."Ryan shakes his head. "Oh, shit. That was stupid.""Yeah." Jim stares at him for a long moment, and Ryan licks his lips. "I could use a distraction."Whoa. Is he–? Holy shit. "What did you have in mind?"





	Booze Cruise Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after season 2 episode 11 ( _The Booze Cruise_ ), during which Jim nearly told Pam he loved her but instead had to witness her and Roy celebrating setting a date for their wedding, causing him to abruptly dump Katy mid-cruise.

As he puts his car into reverse to pull out of his parking spot by the dock, Ryan Howard catches a glimpse of Jim Halpert in his rearview mirror. He'd have to be blind not to, considering Jim's position directly behind Ryan's car.

"C'mon, man," Ryan mutters, jamming the transmission back into park and unbuckling his seatbelt. The night is cold, and Jim is shivering with his hands in the pockets of his heavy winter coat as Ryan gets out of the car and approaches him. "Just gonna stand there all night?" Ryan asks, wincing at the bite in his tone. Snark is just the default position of his attitude dial.

"Oh. Yeah. No," Jim replies. He had been sitting at the bar on the cruise ship for the last couple of hours, Ryan had noted, drinking by himself. He must have knocked back more than a few in that time, judging by the slur in his words. 

"Which is it?" Ryan offers him a tired grin, to which Jim responds with a wan smile.

"Nah, man. I'll get out of the way."

Ryan glances around the parking lot. "Where's your ride?" 

"Oh. Uh," Jim mumbles, ducking his head as if his feet are suddenly fascinating. "I don't really have one. Anymore."

Ryan's brow furrows. "Didn't you come with Katy?"

"Yeah." Jim is nearly inaudible at this point. "I broke up with her on the cruise."

"You what? Why?" Ryan snaps his mouth shut, well aware that it's not his business and that he and Jim are nowhere near close enough friends for him to ask such a thing.

Jim, however, replies immediately. "Because she's." He gulps, clearly suppressing a sob. "She's not Pam."

"Oh. Oh. Shit." Ryan looks around again, this time ensuring no one is paying attention to them. Most of their coworkers have departed the parking lot already, except for Michael, who is still on the cruise ship's deck, bickering with Captain Jack, and Dwight, who appears to be making a valiant attempt at luring Michael away. Stanley and his wife are getting into their car the next row over, but they're out of earshot, and Stanley couldn't give less of a shit if he tried about what Ryan and Jim were talking about. "All right. C'mon. I'll give you a ride home." 

Jim shoots him a grateful look, his green eyes watery, though Ryan can't be sure if it's from overconsumption of cheap booze or from the subject of his revelation. "Thanks, man." 

As they climb into the car, Ryan shoots Jim a sidelong glance. "Sure. Any time."

They don't talk much for the first several minutes, and Ryan switches on the stereo to fill the silence, plugging in his iPod and hitting shuffle. The crunchy guitar riffs that swarm the car put a weak smile on Jim's face. "Hell yeah, man. I love CKY."

Ryan grins. "Hell yeah! I saw them at the Electric Factory in Philly a couple years ago. So fucking good."

They chatter back and forth about music for the rest of the forty-five minute ride back to Scranton, and it's not until they pass the _Scranton Welcomes You_ sign that Jim goes silent again, staring out the passenger side window. "So," Ryan says, despising his own awkwardness; he's flawless in social situations that don't involve being confined in a moving Toyota Corolla with a guy he hardly knows despite having several rather detailed sexual fantasies about him. Although he's fooled around with a few guys in his lifetime, Ryan isn't gay – he doesn't even consider himself bi; at least, not officially – but there's just something irresistible about Jim's tall, slim frame, the way he towers six inches over Ryan's head, and the way his unfortunately loose dress slacks imply a rather large package beneath their zipper. "Uh, where's your – where do you – what's your address?" _Smooth, Howard_.

Jim stares at his hands in his lap for a moment, and Ryan can't decipher the words he mumbles over the music, so he turns down the volume. 

"What?"

"I don't want to be alone tonight," Jim says, only a little louder, and the sound of his voice cracking causes Ryan's willpower to do the same. His heart gives a painful little twinge as he risks another glance at Jim, who isn't looking back at him; he's staring at the ceiling now, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks in the dashboard lights.

Despite his reservations about hooking up with coworkers – never, in his experience, a good idea for obvious reasons – and despite the business school test just hours away that he still hasn't properly studied for, Ryan flicks on his turn signal and heads toward his own apartment. "Then come home with me. You can crash at my place," he says as casually as he can muster, which isn't very casual at all, as it turns out, but Jim is fortunately drunk enough not to notice, or at least not to comment on it.

Jim doesn't say anything, only returns to staring out the window, and there's just enough time before they reach Ryan's apartment building for Ryan to develop a strange and uncharacteristic case of jitters.

 _Get ahold of yourself,_ he thinks, scowling as he pulls into his designated above-ground parking space. _The guy's not only straight; he's madly in love with Pam, for God's sake. This is platonic. Relax already._

Jim follows Ryan from the parking lot to the foyer of the shabby little building, where Ryan punches in the door code with fingers that tremble despite his stern but silent self-admonitions before letting them into the lobby. "Come on. I'm on the second floor. No elevator – can you handle the stairs?"

Chuckling, Jim nods, allowing Ryan to lead the way into the dank concrete stairwell. Once inside Ryan's studio apartment, they hang their jackets in the tiny closet by the door. Jim leans against the wall and looks around with mild interest, and Ryan hurries to herd the piles of clothes all over the bed and floor into the closet, heedless of their degree of cleanliness. He'd sort that out later. In the meantime, he moves a few dirty dishes from the counter into the sink while Jim studies the room. There's a fold-out futon that doubles as a couch against the brick wall directly opposite an incongruously large flat-screen TV; a small coffee table rests in the middle of a threadbare area rug, the table's surface scattered with Ryan's schoolbooks. The kitchen is tucked into what amounts to a nook behind the hallway wall.

"It's not much," Ryan says, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his dress pants, "but it beats the hell out of living with my mom."

Jim nods, glancing toward the futon, and Ryan swallows hard.

"You can sleep there if your back can handle it." Ryan grins, nervous. "I'll, uh – I can throw some blankets down on the floor, and I'll be fine down there."

With an absent hum, Jim swipes a hand over his tired face. "You don't happen to have an extra toothbrush, do you?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Ryan searches through the pressboard cabinet hanging over the toilet until he finds a toothbrush still encased in its packaging. He turns to find Jim leaning in the doorway, his hulking frame filling most of the opening, and hands him the toothbrush. "Knock yourself out."

Jim returns his smile and steps aside, allowing Ryan to exit the bathroom, and when the door closes behind him, Ryan yanks off his tie and unbuttons his shirt, changing into an ancient white t-shirt and plaid flannel sleep pants just before Jim emerges from the bathroom, face scrubbed and the front of his scruffy, floppy brown hair hair damp and askew. His tie is missing, probably discarded on the bathroom floor or over the towel rack, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone.

By law, no man should be allowed to look this good while spending the night in the apartment of another man with famously low willpower.

"I'll, uh – I'll be right out." Ryan darts into the bathroom, where he brushes his teeth and prepares for bed. With his face still damp from the moisturizer he uses – how the hell else can he be expected to maintain his youthful good looks? – Ryan returns to find Jim in the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned and untucked, staring solemnly at the artwork hanging on the wall. It's fairly simple, just strips of a variety of different metals interlaced in a basket-weave pattern, but Ryan, too, has always found it mesmerizing.

"Hey," Jim says, swaying only a little, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He's still wearing his brown dress slacks and shoes. 

"Hey." Ryan pauses, leaning against the kitchen counter with one hip. "You all right, man?"

Jim sighs, shrugging. "Just can't keep my mind off her. I even told Michael how I feel about her, for fuck sake."

Ryan shakes his head. "Oh, shit. That was stupid."

"Yeah." Jim stares at him for a long moment, and Ryan licks his lips. "I could use a distraction."

Whoa. Is he–? Holy shit. "What did you have in mind?" 

It takes Jim and his long legs literally one step to cross the tiny kitchen area, and Ryan's large blue eyes widen even further when Jim backs him against the counter. Without a word, Jim threads the fingers of one hand through the thick, dark brown hair at the back of Ryan's head, tilting his face upward, and leans way down to capture Ryan's gaping mouth in a slow, deep, searingly hot kiss. Jim tastes like toothpaste with a faint undertone of whiskey, a combination Ryan never would have thought could be this appealing. When Jim seems about to pull back, Ryan shakes off his shocked paralysis and clutches the small of Jim's back, holding him in place. Jim makes no complaint, instead kissing Ryan harder and faster, their tongues tussling, two sets of full, pink lips sliding against and sucking at each other until both men are breathless. 

"Fuck," Ryan manages, his voice high and weak, and Jim huffs a quiet laugh. Before Ryan registers what's happening, Jim lifts him onto the counter with one easy motion, and Ryan lets out a startled yip, wrapping his arms around Jim's neck for balance.

"Keep distracting me. C'mere." Jim pulls Ryan's face to him again, and Ryan responds to the kiss by wrapping his legs around Jim's waist. Jim slides a hand up Ryan's back beneath his t-shirt, making Ryan shiver at the sensation of the warmth of Jim's big hand against his skin. Ryan has been with a fair number of people, but he doesn't remember being this turned on by any of them, ever.

Jim breaks the kiss and pulls Ryan's t-shirt over his head, leaving Ryan shirtless in the dim light of the kitchen. He rakes his fingers lightly down the center of Ryan's chest, stroking over the scant patch of dark hair before he bends down to lap at Ryan's left nipple. Ryan loses his breath in a rush, arching toward the heat of the Jim's mouth. He moans as Jim's clever tongue laves the sensitive bud, swirling around and darting over it, coaxing it into a tender peak. "Fuck, you're sexy," Jim mumbles against Ryan's flesh, the vibration of his deep voice sending a tingle up Ryan's spine, and Ryan plunges one encouraging hand into Jim's hair as Jim licks a path upward to Ryan's neck. "You taste good, too," Jim continues, nipping at the side of Ryan's neck, and Ryan groans, aching from head to toe for Jim to touch him, torture him, fuck him already!

As if sensing his desperation, Jim palms Ryan's dick through his flannel pants, his long fingers tracing the outline of its rock hard length as the heel of his hand provides slow, maddening pressure. Jim catches Ryan's soft grunt in his mouth, kissing him deeper still as he pulls the elastic waistband of Ryan's pants downward just enough to free his stiff cock and aching balls. "Oh my God," Ryan gasps when Jim abandons the kiss and hunches over Ryan's lap, taking Ryan's dick into his mouth, all the way to the base in one abrupt stroke. Jim hums, his head bobbing lazily in Ryan's lap as he practically inhales Ryan's cock with every downward motion. _This is Jim_ , Ryan thinks, his head lolling back against the cabinet door behind him. _Jim Halpert from sales is sucking me off. Is this really happening_? " _Fuck_ , Jim!"

Ryan's fingers tighten in Jim's hair, his other hand gripping the edge of the counter, and his eyes fly open when the heat of Jim's mouth is gone as suddenly as it had engulfed him. Still swaying – but only a little – Jim plants his hands on the counter on either side of Ryan and gives him a somewhat dopey, obviously drunken, but definitely charming grin. "Sounds great to me."

It takes Ryan a second to comprehend what Jim's saying, but when he does, he can't help giving a helpless whimper. "Fuck _yes_ , dude."

Jim licks his lips, stepping back to allow Ryan to slide off the counter, and Ryan grabs his hand and pulls him over to the futon, where one quick jerk would transform the vaguely couch-shaped piece of furniture into something more closely resembling a bed. Instead, Ryan pushes Jim into a seated position, sprawled against the back of the futon, and falls to his knees between Jim's splayed legs. With a devious smile, Ryan begins kissing a trail up Jim's inner thigh, starting at the knee, and by the time he reaches the crotch of Jim's regrettably loose pants, Jim is trembling and slack-jawed. He sighs when Ryan continues kissing upward, mouthing wetly at the outline of Jim's dick, which, without seeing it, feels pretty damn big.

A little giddy at the thought that he doesn't have to guess – he can just see for himself! – Ryan flicks open the button and zipper on Jim's pants and reaches inside to pull out Jim's cock. It is indeed pretty damn big – easily the biggest one Ryan has ever handled, his own included – and his mouth waters at the thought of sucking it, which isn't even something he particularly cares for. Not that he's slept with that many guys. But still. The point is, Jim’s dick is fucking _gorgeous_ , and Ryan wants it in his mouth. Pronto. 

"Yeah," Jim whispers as Ryan slides the smooth, shiny head of Jim's thick cock between his lips, playing at it with the tip of his tongue for a moment before drawing more of it into his mouth. "That's so good. Shit…"

Ryan sinks as far as he can down the shaft before nearly gagging on it, drawing back only to try again, and again, and again, until Jim catches his spit-slick chin in one big hand and guides him upward to straddle Jim's lap. "Gonna come too quick if you keep that up," he explains, his dopey grin back on his face, and Ryan thinks for a fleeting moment that he wouldn't mind waking up next to that grin. Jim diverts that train of thought by pulling Ryan close, bare chest to chest, and kissing him again, so thoroughly that Ryan barely remembers his own name when he's done, let alone what he was just thinking about.

"Jim," Ryan pants against Jim's cheek, pressing harder against Jim with his hips, his insistent hard-on trapped between them, the friction of the hair trailing down Jim's flat belly both torturous and delicious. "I want you to fuck me."

“That is more than okay with me." Jim wraps his arms around Ryan's middle and stands, bringing them both to their feet. Ryan immediately shucks his pants and drops to his knees again, this time to help Jim remove his shoes, socks, and pants before crawling back into his lap. 

“Good thing we took Dramamine earlier." Ryan’s lips quirk. “’Cause I’m gonna rock your world, Halpert.”

"How about I rock yours first?" Eyes locked with Ryan's, Jim swipes his finger over his tongue and reaches around, delving unerringly between the high, round cheeks of Ryan's ass to massage his hole. Ryan moans, only refraining from collapsing by throwing his arms around Jim's neck again, and Jim chuckles, a dark, sensual rumble, against the side of Ryan's head. Pressing just the slightest bit harder, Jim slides the tip of his finger inside Ryan's quivering opening; Ryan opens up for him right away, so turned on he half wonders if he's going to blow his load before Jim even starts fucking him, and soon Jim's finger is inside him up to the third knuckle, the pad of his finger brushing Ryan's prostate and making him see stars. 

"Here," Ryan pants, coming to his senses only when Jim withdraws his finger. Leaning over to grab his trusty bottle of Wet Platinum off the nearby end table, Ryan hands it to Jim, who raises an eyebrow.

"Really? That's where you keep it?"

Ryan shrugs, unapologetic. "Hey, man, this is where I sleep. I probably would've put it away if I knew I was having company." He smirks. "Then again, maybe not."

Jim laughs, shaking his head as he douses his fingers in the slippery lube. With the other hand, he pulls Ryan closer still, reaching back to press two fingers inside him. Delirious with pleasure, Ryan rests his forehead against the side of Jim's head, gasping for breath; he cries out, trembling, when Jim adds a third finger, the burn intensifying as his body accommodates the extra girth. "You sure you can handle me?" 

"Mmm, fuck," Ryan replies somewhat nonsensically, squirming against Jim's fingers. His cock is impossibly hard, pre-come drooling down its shaft, and he's just about ten seconds away from coming if Jim keeps pumping his fingers in and out like this. "Come on, I want your dick – please!"

"Never thought I'd hear those words out of that pretty mouth." Jim turns his head to meet Ryan's lips in a deep, dirty kiss that leaves Ryan's entire body humming like a live wire. "Grab my wallet out of my back pocket. There's a couple condoms in there."

Ryan scrambles off Jim's lap and retrieves his pants, kneeling on the futon next to Jim and wrestling his wallet out of the pocket. Jim nods, and Ryan digs in the wallet, producing two small packets, still attached on their perforated edge. Tearing them apart, Ryan tosses one of them – along with Jim's wallet – onto the table beside him and tears the other open with his teeth, expertly rolling the thin latex over Jim's cock, which throbs hotly in his hand. 

"Do you want me to turn around, or...?" Ryan trails off, hesitating to climb back into Jim's lap; he has no idea what's on Jim's mind and doesn't dare guess. For all he knows, Jim's pretending Ryan is Pam right now.

Jim shakes his head, guiding Ryan back into position astraddle his lap. “No. I want to watch you.”

His face warming inexplicably, Ryan hides his helpless smile by ducking his head and fumbling for the lube next to Jim’s leg. He slicks Jim’s dick with one hand, the other resting on Jim's shoulder for balance, and then lowers himself until the tip of Jim’s cock rests against Ryan’s eager hole. 

“Go slow.” Jim’s voice is uncharacteristically husky. “It’s okay.”

Ryan nods, unable to speak, and presses downward until the head of Jim’s cock breaches the tight ring of muscle; with a gasp of surprise, Ryan freezes, breathing heavily as he adjusts to Jim’s considerable size. 

“Shh,” Jim soothes. “You’re okay. C’mere.” He buries one hand in Ryan’s hair again, pulling him close for a long, lazy kiss. By the time Ryan pulls back for air, he's lowered himself about halfway down Jim's thick shaft, and he's certain he's about to split in two, but nothing short of his mother barging into the room could convince him to stop.

 _He's so gentle_ , Ryan marvels to himself, biting his lip, watching Jim's face as the bigger man's eyes slip closed. _It's not just an act; he really is Mr. Nice Guy._ Ryan braces himself with both hands on Jim's shoulders, as he takes Jim the rest of the way inside him. He can't speak; he can't even make a sound through the intense sense of fullness radiating from their point of connection. It isn't painful, exactly; it's more like a shade short of overwhelming. He doesn't move for several seconds, willing his body to relax.

Jim further proves his character by cupping Ryan's face in one hand and swiping the pad of his thumb over Ryan's parted lips. "Jesus," Jim breathes. "I never noticed how beautiful you are."

Ryan whimpers, hating himself for making such a sound but thoroughly unable to control it, leaning into Jim's hand and closing his eyes. Every part of him is so hypersensitive he almost can't handle it, and Jim's words and demeanor are nearly too much for him to bear. To distract himself, Ryan gives an experimental roll of his hips, his eyelids fluttering at the long, slow slide of Jim's stiff thickness along his prostate. "Oh, fuck," Ryan gasps, a shudder traveling through his body, and repeats the motion, setting a slow but determined rhythm as Jim's hands settle on Ryan's waist, the tips of his long fingers nearly meeting.

With a low groan, Jim remains still, blinking up at Ryan beneath eyelids heavy with lust and booze. "That's it," he mumbles. "Take it all, baby."

 _Baby_ , Ryan muses, fighting a smile of delight, which is shocking in its own right. Why the hell would Jim Halpert calling him _baby_ give him a thrill? Besides his long-running sexual crush on the man, that is. In an attempt to shut his brain up before it wanders into uncharted and undesired territory, Ryan picks up the pace, letting himself feel Jim's every inch, revel in the smooth in-and-out glide of Jim's thick cock, and absorb the heat of Jim's hands around his waist.

"Oh, God," Jim moans, starting to thrust upward in time with Ryan's movements. The low, throaty timbre of his voice sends a flush of heat through Ryan's body, punctuated by the knee-weakening impact of Jim's dick pummeling Ryan's prostate, and Ryan finds himself perilously close to the edge in an embarrassingly short minute or two. He doesn't have time to wallow in humiliation, however, when Jim braces Ryan's ass with both hands, holding him aloft and thrusting into him with abandon.

"Fuck!" Ryan yelps, his eyes rolling back into his head and his body trembling wildly in the instant before he comes harder than he thinks he ever has in his life, shooting thick stripes up Jim's chest and even onto the cinderblock wall behind the futon. He only becomes aware of his own high-pitched, fervent cries when Jim's fingers tighten on his ass, startling him out of his blissed-out haze. Ryan manages to focus his rolling eyes on Jim's face as Jim stares up at him with what looks like shock on his face, his mouth falling open and his head falling back.

"Ungh – oh, fuck, _fuck_ , _Ryan_ —"

"Yeah, come for me, baby," Ryan mutters, flushing immediately when he realizes what he said, but Jim is too far gone to notice, yanking Ryan hard onto his cock and holding him there. A deep, urgent groan tumbles from Jim's lips, and his cock pulses inside Ryan as he comes, shaking hard, sweat dripping down his temples.

They sit like that, catching their breath, for a long moment, until Ryan carefully disengages from Jim with a faint hiss of discomfort. Before he can climb off Jim's lap, though, Jim wraps his arms around Ryan's waist and favors him with a dopey, unbearably charming smile. "You're amazing," he mumbles, his eyes surprisingly lucid. "Best distraction I ever had."

Ryan laughs, more than a little self conscious, and bends down to give Jim a light kiss. "Glad I could help. I'm gonna grab you a towel and something to drink, okay?"

"Thanks." Jim watches Ryan crawl off his lap, blushing as he steps into his underwear before heading off in search of a clean towel. When he returns, Jim is in the same position, still blessedly naked, dozing with his legs splayed and his head resting against the wall. A surge of lust punches Ryan in the gut, and despite his recent orgasm and the dull ache where Jim had stretched him to the limit, Ryan's cock twitches again in interest.  

"Hey." Ryan sets the towel and two bottles on the coffee table. "Jim. C'mon, get up. I'll open the futon for you."

Jim grunts, wincing as he cracks open one bleary eye and extends a hand, which Ryan grasps and pulls him to his feet. Ryan deftly jerks open the futon and spreads a sheet on top, gesturing for Jim to climb aboard. When he does, Ryan covers him with a blanket, twists the lid off a bottle of Gatorade, and hands it to him. "Here. Drink all of this," Ryan says, cringing at the escape of his inner Mother Hen but knowing she's right. "And as much of the other one as you can, too. It'll help with the hangover."

"Thanks," Jim mumbles, drinking deeply as Ryan turns to dig an extra pillow and a couple blankets out of the closet. When Ryan returns from his lengthy, five-foot trek, the bottle is empty, and Jim sets it on the table, licking the last of the red liquid from his top lip. Something about that sight makes Ryan's heart pound, so he looks away in a hurry, shaking out the blanket on the other side of the coffee table and spreading it neatly on the floor. "What are you doing?" Jim asks, looking mystified.

"Making my bed."

Jim shakes his head with a crooked smile, stretching out on the futon and patting the empty space beside him. "You can ride me like a prize pony, but you can't sleep next to me?"

Ryan's face aflame, he laughs shyly and rounds the table, taking his time arranging his pillow so he doesn't appear too eager to leap into bed with Jim.

Jim _Halpert_.

From _work_.

_Oh my God._

When Ryan crawls under the blanket, Jim loops an arm over his waist, pulling him close, and Ryan obligingly tucks his head under Jim's chin. Jim is asleep within seconds, not quite snoring but definitely in the same zip code, and Ryan nestles in with his cheek against the soft hair on Jim's chest, basking in the endorphins saturating his brain.

**

Ryan awakens first, his face smooshed into Jim's throat. He takes a few moments to regain his bearings – yes, he's at home; yes, he's in bed, or at least what serves as 'bed' in his world; and yes, he is indeed snuggling with the tall, warm, naked body belonging to the youngest salesman in Dunder Mifflin's Scranton branch.

Well, _this_ will probably lead to a few awkward break room run-ins.

Detaching himself from Jim's flesh and apparent tentacles with a great deal of care and definitely some reluctance, Ryan checks the time – quarter of eight,  _shit_ – and creeps into the bathroom to start getting ready for work, closing the door as quietly as possible to avoid waking Jim.

Ryan's in the shower with his hair full of thick, fragrant foam when a soft knock sounds at the bathroom door.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Ryan." Jim's voice is slightly hoarse and terribly sexy. "Sorry, man. I have to piss like a racehorse, and I'd really like to brush my teeth. Do you mind?"

"Nah, go ahead." Ryan rinses his hair, all but holding his breath in fear of opening his mouth and saying something stupid and needy. If someone held a gun to his head and demanded he make one wish on the spot, it would be for Jim to give him one more good, hard pounding, but this time, while sober. The last thing he wants to do, however, is make such a suggestion, which would surely reek of desperation, something Ryan refuses to exude around _anyone_ from work.

Even if the guy did make him come untouched last night, which he's never done before.

Lost in thought, Ryan jumps at the rustle of the shower curtain, turning to find Jim stepping into the tub with him. "It's our generation's duty to conserve water," Jim says, solemn as can be, towering over Ryan as he moves closer and presses him against the wall. "How about this?" Jim asks in a low voice, his eyes locked with Ryan's. "Do you mind this?"

Ryan shakes his head, weak-kneed and speechless, and Jim smiles a little, wrapping one hand around the back of Ryan's neck and leaning down to kiss him. Ryan sighs despite himself, clutching Jim's biceps, his cock swelling as Jim's tongue caresses and massages his own. The guy can kiss; that's for damn sure.

Shoving a wet hand through his hair to push it off his forehead, Jim maneuvers them under the shower head. "Soap?"

Dumbly, Ryan nods and hands Jim the soap, watching, mesmerized, as Jim lathers the bar between his hands before swiping it slowly across Ryan's collarbones. Neither of them speaks as Jim smooths lather over Ryan's chest; Ryan's breath catches as the soap passes over each tightly peaked nipple, an action Jim repeats several times, smirking a little at the way Ryan arches into the sensation. Jim's hands continue roaming, leaving suds in their wake as they move down Ryan's stomach, teasingly jumping directly to one thigh and down the calf to his foot and giving the other leg the same treatment. Just when Ryan is about ready to beg, Jim sets the bar of soap on the nearby ledge and cups Ryan's balls in one foamy hand, wrapping the other hand around Ryan's stiff cock.

"Fuck," Ryan whispers, his eyes glued to Jim's hands as they stroke and caress his most sensitive areas. Jim's gaze flicks to Ryan's face, his full lips still curved upward as he drops carefully to his knees and gives Ryan's cock a few firm strokes.

"Tell me what you want," Jim murmurs, and Ryan's cock throbs in Jim's hand.

_Where to begin?_

Ryan's voice is barely audible above the sound of the shower. "Want you to suck me." His hands quiver as they settle onto Jim's head, and when Jim licks his lips before brushing them with the tip of Ryan's aching dick, Ryan moans, his head falling back so suddenly it bumps the tile behind him. Any discomfort that causes is instantly washed away by the bright, electrifying sensation of Jim's hot mouth surrounding his cock. His excitement is magnified exponentially when Jim tucks an arm under Ryan's thigh and deftly hooks Ryan's leg over Jim's shoulder, sucking Ryan's dick in a slow, steady rhythm. With the hand not clutching Ryan's thigh, Jim reaches back and trails his fingertips down Ryan's tailbone and dips them into his crack, gently circling Ryan's entrance.

Ryan makes a helpless sound through his teeth as Jim strokes and circles his hole, his cock jumping in Jim's mouth, and Jim pulls back, lapping at the tip of Ryan's cock before standing rather abruptly. "Come on," he growls, yanking Ryan close with one arm around the smaller man's waist. "One more time before work. What do you say?"

"I say _hell yes_."

They take about four seconds in total to towel off before retreating to the futon, where Ryan lies down as Jim crawls over him in a sensual, surprisingly Hollywood-worthy moment, dipping down to kiss him, deep and slow. "Where's that other condom?" Jim asks, mumbling against Ryan's lips, and Ryan points in the direction of the table. Drawing back, Jim tears open the packet and outfits his stiff cock in latex as Ryan watches, trembling. In the light of day, it looks even bigger than it did last night, and although he knows he managed it, he can't quite imagine taking the whole thing.

Jim, as he has done countless times in the past twelve hours, reinforces his gentle nature by settling in next to Ryan, leaning in to kiss him while he hooks one arm beneath Ryan's leg and slides one well-lubricated finger inside Ryan's still swollen opening. "Are you sore?" Jim murmurs, pulling back to reveal his brow drawn in concern, and Ryan smiles despite himself, hoping his irises haven't transformed into shiny pink hearts.

"A little. It's okay."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Ryan runs his fingers through Jim's hair and pulls him into another kiss, which seems to embolden Jim, who adds a second finger alongside the first as their mouths move in a lazy tussle. By the time he's up to three fingers, Ryan's eyes have rolled back into his head again, his dick rock hard and leaking against his stomach, and he's panting shamelessly into Jim's mouth. 

Jim shoves his own hair off his forehead, his eyes drilling into Ryan's. "You ready?" 

"Yes," Ryan gasps, tugging a little at Jim's arm until Jim, grinning, rolls on top of him and hikes Ryan's legs up to encircle Jim's waist. 

"I can't wait to feel you," Jim rumbles, and Ryan's breath catches, both from Jim's statement and the pressure of his dick against Ryan's hole. 

"Me, too."

Without a word, Jim pushes the head of his dick inside, and Ryan swallows hard at the burn of the intrusion, clutching Jim's biceps. Jim pauses, and Ryan shakes his head, almost desperate. 

"Don't stop, it's fine, _go_."

Brow creased with doubt, Jim inches forward with his hips, entering Ryan so slowly Ryan loses patience and tightens his legs like a vise around Jim's waist, forcing Jim's cock the rest of the way inside. They both groan at that, Ryan clenching his teeth at the intensity of the stretch. "Are you okay?" Jim murmurs, his tone urgent, and Ryan nods.

"You're fucking _huge_ ," he grits out, managing a smile when he meets Jim's eyes. "Just a sec, okay?"

Jim nods, bending to kiss Ryan again, slow and deep, until Ryan's tension eases, and he taps Jim's shoulder. "Mmm," Ryan begins, and Jim releases his lips so he can speak. "I'm ready. I want it."

"You're so tight," Jim mumbles, biting his lip. 

"I'm okay." Ryan quirks a half smile. "Don't you remember how I 'rode you like a pony' last night? Your words."

Jim chuckles. "Sounds like me. I sort of remember, but I was pretty far gone." He pauses. "This one, I want to remember."

 _Seriously, you have to quit saying things that are gonna make me fall for you,_ Ryan thinks, but instead of speaking, he bucks upward at Jim with his hips, and Jim takes his cue, sliding out partway before pushing back in, repeating the movement until all signs of discomfort have fled Ryan's face. Then Jim begins fucking him in earnest, slow but almost unbearably deep, snapping his hips hard at the end of each stroke and forcing a wholly involuntary cry from Ryan's chest with every thrust.

"Jesus," Ryan managed, forcing himself to loosen the grip of his fingers on Jim's arms, "you're gonna turn me gay, Halpert."

Laughing, Jim picks up the pace, and Ryan lets out a strangled cry, his hands clamping down on Jim's arms again. "Nah, you know why?"

Ryan can't answer; he's too busy trembling all over.

"No other guy'll ever fuck you this good," Jim purrs in a voice so silky and sensual that Ryan quite literally can't take it; he jerks, spasms, and shouts Jim's name as he comes all over his own stomach.

"Don't fucking stop," Ryan gasps, his hands falling from Jim's arms to clutch the sheet covering the futon beneath him.

Sweaty and grinning, Jim slides an arm beneath the small of Ryan's back, lifting his hips off the bed, and plants one foot on the floor to continue driving into Ryan harder and faster than before. Blitzed with pleasure, Ryan can do nothing but hold onto the sheet for dear life, moaning and crying out every time Jim plunges into him. Amidst the onslaught, Ryan's cock never softens, growing somehow harder still as Jim fucks him fast and deep. "God, you feel good," Jim growls over the rapid slapping sound of flesh meeting flesh and the uncontrolled noises Ryan makes. "Wish we'd done this a long time ago."

"Ahh, _yes_." Ryan doesn't know if his response belongs to Jim's comment or the way he's hammering Ryan's prostate, but he doesn't figure it matters much. "God, _fuck_ , Jim, _please_..."

"Ah, yeah, baby," Jim groans, sweat dripping down his forehead, and Ryan reaches up to push Jim's hair back. The guy is fucking _hot_ , honestly, although he doesn't seem aware of it. "Take it all."

"Give it to me," Ryan shoots back, unable to tear his eyes away from Jim's as the bigger man begins to fall apart, clearly approaching his release. Snaking a hand between them, Ryan strokes his own cock, chasing some unfathomable high that seems shockingly attainable with Jim's cock pummeling him from the inside and every one of his senses overwhelmed with input at the same time.

"Fuck – _Ryan_!" Jim cries, thrusting harder still once, twice, and a third time before he freezes at his depth inside Ryan, his big body quaking as he stares in shock at Ryan's awed face. Ryan's second orgasm – another first for him – crashes over him, and he detonates beneath Jim, bucking and nearly screaming as he shoots nearly dry between their heaving stomachs.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Ryan babbles, shockwaves tearing through him as Jim collapses on top of him, still quivering from his own intense orgasm. "Fuck, that was _incredible_!"

Jim mumble-groans something unintelligible into the side of Ryan's neck, and Ryan subsides, gasping and still twitching, stroking through Jim's wet hair as he waits for both of them to catch their breath. After a while, Jim gives a little start as if awakening from a light doze and extracts his face from Ryan's neck. "What the _fuck_ ," Jim mutters, grinning, his face red and sweaty.

"I know." Ryan grins back, unable to argue with the fluttering of his heart. _Shit_. He might actually be falling for this guy, which is _so_ not what he needs in his life right now.

Jim presses his lips against Ryan's again, and they share a long, lazy kiss with Jim's cock still buried to the hilt inside Ryan; eventually, Jim withdraws from Ryan, releasing his lips and sitting up on the edge of the futon to remove, tie off, and discard the used condom. Ryan, eyelids heavy, watches the smooth lines of his body as he moves, and when Jim turns his head, he catches Ryan staring at him.

Ryan merely smiles. _Fuck it_.

"I say this with every ounce of innuendo possible," Jim says, his trademark deadpan affect firmly in place. "Thanks for the ride, Howard."

"With every ounce of innuendo right back at you," Ryan replies with a grin, " _any time_ , Halpert."

"Are you going in today?" Jim stands and steps into his pants, another activity Ryan is more than happy to observe. As it turns out, Jim has a fantastic ass. _He should really stop wearing those baggy pants,_ Ryan thinks with a sigh.

"I was gonna, but I have a test at business school later, and I still haven't studied." Ryan sits up, running both hands through his hair. Although wearing not a stitch, he feels more naked with his hair uncombed than he does without clothes. "I can drive you in, though."

"It's okay." Jim waves him off. "I'll get a cab back to my car." He pauses, then offers Ryan a smile tinged at the edges with sadness. "Thanks again. I mean, for the ride, and for distracting me for a while, too."

"Any time," Ryan repeats. "I mean it. And Jim... if you can, try and let her go. Don't tear yourself apart over somebody you can never have, man."

It's Jim's turn to sigh, his shoulders slumping as he buttons his shirt. "Yeah," he mumbles. "I'll try."

He won't, and Ryan knows it, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Once Jim is gone, leaving Ryan with a smile and a casual "see you at work," Ryan cracks open his textbook and attempts to study for a couple hours. He absorbs exactly nothing; his mind is otherwise occupied.

He aces the test anyway.

**

 


End file.
